Feinstein, Howard, "Losing a Muse and Moving On," in
The New
York Times
, 6 February 2000.

* * *

After making his fame on period pieces in which the willful young woman
(played inevitably by Gong Li) confronts the formidable power of
feudalism, Chinese director Zhang Yimou turned to a more contemporary
story line and humble cast of characters in his fifth feature,
The Story of Qiu Ju
. This time leading lady Gong Li plays Qiu Ju, the simple but most
stubborn country wife who decides to get justice for her
husband—and ultimately, for herself.

At the start of the movie, her husband, Qinglai, has been beaten up by the
ill-tempered village head, Wang Shantang, during an altercation, and Qiu
Ju and relatives rush Qinglai in a litter to the nearest town doctor. When
they arrive, Qiu Ju proves herself a pragmatic skeptic, wondering if the
fellow is a real doctor ("He looks more like a veterinarian . . .
") and making sure he washes his hand before treatment. Our heroine
is especially upset because Wang has kicked her mate in the groin. As she
says, "But how could he kick you
there
where it affects future generations?"

At first Qiu Ju takes up the matter with the local policeman, who mediates
a settlement which includes a cash payment. However, when the very
pregnant woman goes to collect her due, Wang arrogantly scatters the money
to the ground saying, "And each time you pick up a bill,
you'll bow to me." Naturally, proud Qiu Ju walks off, with
nary a cent—and seeks other remedy.

Soon she is going off to towns, accompanied by her sister, and it is comic
watching this very determined and very pregnant woman waddling in and out
of wagons and buses and in and out of various offices seeking redress.
Meanwhile, the trips are financed by sales of great bunches of the red
chilies the family grows.

As Qiu Ju climbs higher and higher up the levels of justice, she moves
into more modern and more foreign environments. In the big city, she and
her sister stare in wonder about them as cars and motorcycles whiz by,
when they find street upon street of shops and food stalls. Qiu Ju
indulges herself by buying a "high fashion" jacket that is
garish and serves only to emphasize her bulge.

Finally, she has to hire a lawyer to bring suit against Wang. In the end,
in a kind of O. Henry twist, justice comes in a cold, swift way Qiu Ju did
not intend. Gong Li here is unexpectedly unglamorous, with freckles on her
ruddy cheeks, and waddling about in a heavily padded jacket. Her low-keyed
and completely convincing performance won her rave reviews, as well as a
best actress prize in at the Venice International Film Festival.

The Story of Qiu Ju
is an intriguing experiment in filmmaking. Zhang actually enlisted the
acting talents of a whole village, caught ordinary people unaware in their
daily activities, sometimes shooting situations with a hidden camera using
Super 16 film. There were only
four professional actors used—for the characters of Qiu Ju, her
husband, the village head, and the local policeman. As such, it has a
languid feel, with far less tension than his usually tightly constructed
films. Perhaps because of the deliberately down-played tone of
Qiu Ju
, the cinematography is pedestrian. It is competent but certainly not
outstanding—something which we have come to expect in the films of
one who was first trained as a cinematographer.

Some Western critics were enraptured by the film, sensing the truth of a
kind of Neo-Social Realism in it. And indeed, here was a feature that
showed the craggy humdrum aspect of Chinese life few Westerners had seen
up close. Janet Maslin of the
New York Times
wrote that the film "reaffirms Zhang Yimou's stature as
storyteller and sociologist extraordinaire, and as a visual artist of
exceptional delicacy and insight."

However, others, who have been to China, know that village life and the
government bureaucracy are much more gritty and harsh than Zhang has let
on. Indeed, some have accused the director of deliberately trying to
please the cadres with his portrayal of decent and upstanding
functionaries, especially when in reality indifference and corruption are
rampant.

Still, as China's best-known director, perhaps Zhang is held to
account for more than his share of responsibilities. After all, his
ambitions in this film were modest. Zhang has said, "I strived for
realism because I felt this was the best way to convey the true spirit and
simplicity of the people of China's countryside, who for me are the
heart and soul of China itself." In 1992 the film won the top prize
of the Golden Lion and the best actress award for Gong Li at the Venice
International Film Festival. It was also a selection of the New York Film
Festival.

—Scarlet Cheng

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